Reflections on New Orleans

Entering the city, I felt as though I was bound to love her. How could you not love New Orleans? I mean, people I love love this city and people all around the world love her too.

I can see why. Even my limited exposure (one evening and morning in the French Quarter) showed me many reasons. This city is full of life. There is something going on at every corner. People practicing every sort of art and music. Shopkeepers plying their wares. Club promoters enticing you in. The city is steeped in character. The distinctively French buildings with their southern-style wrought iron balconies seem to embrace you. You can't help but wonder at the things they've seen while the parade of history has taken place around them.

There are French bakeries, oyster bars, bbq pits, and of course jazz clubs of all sorts. There are antique shops and jewelry boutiques and little art shops with hidden courtyards.

Everyone seems happy.

But I can also see how being loved - as New Orleans is - has damaged her. As happens far too often, the flood of tourists has changed the feeling of this place. It has created a gross patina upon her beautiful surface. There are strip clubs and Cancun/Spring Break style daiquiri bars. There is so much garbage and awful smells. There are many people too who obviously just live on these tawdry streets - and who have not survived it well. Those faring better spend their time trying squeeze money out of everyone around. For where there is money, there will ever follow opportunism. In this way, New Orleans reminds me of Amsterdam; dirty and seedy, leaving me feeling the need to hold my purse close and look over my shoulder, trusting no one.

It's sad actually, because like a beautiful woman with far too much tacky make-up on, the beauty of New Orleans persists but the whole appearance is tarnished.